For several seconds after Kael's words, no one spoke.
The sky hung heavy, as if even the clouds were listening.
Rovan was the first to move—not on the outside, but inside.
His eyes narrowed slightly, not at Kael's wings this time, but at the residual mana still clinging to the space around him.
"…Wait," he said slowly. "Those roots earlier. The teleportation. The way the mana behaved."
Ragnar's gaze sharpened. "You're saying—"
"That it wasn't a technique," Rovan finished. "Not martial. Not instinctive movement."
Rina's grin faded, replaced by something closer to disbelief. "You mean… that was just magic?"
All three of them looked back at Kael.
And for the first time since arriving, there was no condescension in their eyes.
Only confusion.
"…Magic without chants," Rovan murmured. "Without circles."
Ragnar frowned. "That's something only the lowest-tier mages do. Raw, inefficient casting."
